


you mistake every word for a command

by derogatory



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Drunk Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex, Size Kink, these tags are here for a reason so i dont wanna hear any complaining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 04:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17573897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory
Summary: I never should've gotten drunk, Sougo thinks mournfully. And then, more honestly,I should've gotten more drunk so I could enjoy this.Behind him, he hears Tamaki open the lube and feels its familiar slickness trailing over his skin.





	you mistake every word for a command

Sougo's pleasant buzz after a long week of shooting dissolves immediately into a tense, irritable silence as soon as they’re in the car. 

He tries not to gnash his teeth. Tamaki sits beside him in the back seat, needlessly petulant and infinitely fussy. There's no pleasing Tamaki; Sougo had figured that out early. To Tamaki, nothing he does is ever right; if Sougo takes all the responsibilities on himself, Tamaki feels slighted. If he tries to delegate some tasks, well, then Tamaki resents him for that too. Now, after all this time they've spent filming a drama together, after weeks of Sougo juggling his work and keeping Tamaki on task, after all that, if Sougo chose to have a few drinks at the finale party — apparently that's another reason for Tamaki to be irritated with him. 

As the car winds its way through the night streets, Sougo's vision swims; his stomach flips. The world wobbles around him. Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to finish that whole bottle of sake with the director, but it would've been rude for Sougo to turn him down, right? It's better for MEZZO" reputation that Sougo went along with the party atmosphere, and anyway it's just a little drunkenness before bed. Nothing Sougo can't handle.

He pointedly ignores the eyes glaring into the back of his skull. 

_Go ahead_ he wants to snarl at Tamaki. _Find some fault with me again. Nitpick something insignificant about how I behaved._ As if Tamaki hadn't spent the whole night underfoot with the waitstaff, as if he hadn't interrupted the director's toast, or been a bother to the other restaurant patrons.

Alcohol swirls mutinously in his stomach. Of course, Sougo doesn't want to fight with Tamaki. He doesn't want to have another argument in a long line of countless arguments. In just their short time together as a unit, he's never wanted to fight with Tamaki; he desperately wants to get along with him. He wants to be friends (Tamaki had argued with that too. "You don't want to be friends," he had snapped, looking inexplicably hurt, "You just want me to behave.")

Sougo presses his forehead to the cool glass of the window. But isn't that the same thing? If Tamaki behaves, if he's good and doesn't fight with Sougo, isn't that the same as being friends? And if it isn't, has Sougo ever had a real friend in his life?

Sougo squeezes his eyes closed. No, he's being melodramatic. That's the alcohol talking. And honestly, that's probably Tamaki's problem; he's upset Sougo had a couple too many drinks, and now he wants to turn this drunkenness into an argument. 

No way, Sougo thinks, emboldened with alcohol. He’s worked too hard to let Tamaki's childish antics ruin this. 

The van pulls to a stop outside the dorm. When Sougo tries to step out of the car, Banri is gracious enough to help him when he stumbles (how embarrassing; hopefully Banri-san didn't notice.) 

Sougo hears Tamaki climb out after him, the soft huff of an exhale that makes the hair on the back of Sougo's neck stand straight up. He wills himself to move quickly. He needs to get inside — fast. He'll apologize to Banri tomorrow for not saying goodnight properly, but Sougo knows he needs to be fast right now. Tamaki is quick at his heels. If Sougo can just get upstairs, into the dorms, into his room, before Tamaki catches him, he can go to sleep and avoid whatever altercation Tamaki has planned. And honestly, Sougo doesn't have _time_ for a fight. They have dance practice in the morning (oh, maybe that's what Tamaki is irritated about? That he drank too much and now Sougo won't be able to perform properly? As if Tamaki has a leg to stand on regarding someone else's rehearsal readiness. Even without a hangover, there's no doubt Tamaki will wake up late for practice.)

Sougo nearly makes it, he's almost safe when Tamaki squeezes into his doorway. Damn Tamaki's stupidly long limbs. Of course he'd catch up to him. It probably hadn't helped that in Sougo's rush, he had staggered into the hallway wall once or twice. 

Sougo presses the back of his hand to a flushed cheek. Maybe the drinks had been stronger than he originally thought.

Sougo sighs and opens the door wider to let Tamaki in. The younger man slinks in, hands shoved into his pockets. The back of his jacket is wrinkled; he didn't get it ironed like Sougo had asked. Sougo makes a concerted effort not to clench his jaw.

"Tamaki-kun," Sougo says. The sound of his own voice makes his head ring. "I don't want to," he swallows. Water is pooling in his mouth and he can hear his voice is slurring. "I'm tired," Sougo says, half pleads, "Please, can't we talk about it in the morning?"

"Okay," Tamaki says, unusually generous. Sougo blinks the room blearily back into focus as he nods.

"All right," he says carefully when he's sure his voice is even. "Goodnight." Sougo takes a few careful steps forward (room only partially swimming) and shakes off Tamaki's arm when he offers to help. That's weird, that's not like Tamaki at all, especially when he's got it in his head Sougo's wronged him somehow. The fog in Sougo's head makes it difficult to figure out what could explain that change in Tamaki's behavior, but luckily Sougo's just tipsy enough to ignore it. 

Right now, the more important thing is his bed, returned at long last, soft and warm and welcoming under his hands. Sougo leans forward, farther and farther before finally tipping into it and rolling onto his back. The mattress cushions him wonderfully, better than any other mattress before. These really are the best beds. The blankets are so soft. This is great. Everything about tonight was great. Even Tamaki's fussy face — oh, right.

Sougo opens his eyes and squints. Tamaki's still there, even though he said they'll deal with it in the morning. Sougo blinks, long and slow, painfully easing himself up on one elbow. He opens his mouth to ask Tamaki to turn out the lights when he leaves, but no sound comes out. It's muffled, weirdly swallowed up in the sensation of Tamaki's lips on his, in the feeling of another body crashing down on top of him.

"Ah — Tamaki-" Sougo wrenches his head back and the room reels. Tamaki holds him fast with a hand around his shoulder, grip strong, palms wide. Sougo stares blearily at him. Tamaki's got big hands. Tamaki's in his bed? Wait, were they kissing—

"Souchan," Tamaki mutters and his mouth is there again, lips clumsily crushing into Sougo's. Tamaki doesn't have any idea how to kiss, which is a relief, really, because Tamaki is a minor and even if he's on those "men you most want to be embraced by" lists, Sougo would have to hope nobody _actually wanted_ to embrace a seventeen year old. A seventeen year old whose tongue is currently slipping into his mouth.

"Tamaki!" Sougo cries and tries to shove him away. But Tamaki weighs a ton, and even if he's only half on top of Sougo, he barely budges. Sougo's limbs are limp with alcohol, muscles weak and helpless. Tamaki stares down at him intently. He licks his lips; Sougo anxiously mirrors the motion.

"What are you doing," Sougo mumbles, weakly attempting to extract Tamaki's hand from his shoulder. Eventually Tamaki lifts it away, but then his fingers are roaming downward, fumbling over Sougo's shirt, untucking it from his pants. Sougo dimly remembers Tamaki hadn't tucked in his own shirt. It was supposed to be a nice dinner, but of course Tamaki couldn't make himself look presentable. 

Sougo stares curiously up at Tamaki, who certainly doesn't look presentable now; his eyes wide and wild, hair out of place, biting his lower lip. Tamaki's lips look overly pink up close. Is it from all the biting? Or maybe the kissing — shit, the kissing —

"Wait, Tamaki-" Sougo struggles and pays for it with another kiss, a mean one, sloppy and mostly biting. There's no style in it, but there's a raw power in the way Tamaki shoulders Sougo down into the mattress. There's strength and sex appeal in the way he holds Sougo in place with a hand at his hip bone and tongue down his throat. It's been a long time since somebody kissed Sougo like that, all loose limbs and needy hormones. Sougo feels himself melting into it, the heated touches, the hungry desperation of wanting someone else. His arms transition from pushing and pulling to resting over Tamaki's shoulders. The mattress sags as Tamaki moves his full weight onto the bed and he eases Sougo farther back. A thigh presses insistently between his legs and Sougo hears himself moaning.

"Mnn... Tamaki, stop," he bites back another embarrassing sound, pulling at the back of his wrinkled coat. Tamaki blinks down at him stupidly. Adorably. His eyelashes are very long. Sougo groans and squeezes his eyes closed. He wishes he could slam his head against the wall or shut his half-hard cock in a drawer someplace. Anything to sober up and calm down. Sure, it feels good and yeah, it's been a long time, but this is _Tamaki_ and this is — Honestly, he's not sure what this is, but it's definitely not a good idea. Wasn't Tamaki supposed to be mad at him?

"What are you doing?" Sougo stumbles over the words as Tamaki rolls his hips against him. Sougo feels a definite hardness there, tenting under the boy's dress pants.

"Souchan's done this before, right?" Tamaki murmurs, hands roaming under Sougo's shirt. He's always moving, it's part of what always makes Tamaki so exhausting. He wants to dance, he wants to move around, he wants to run — Tamaki seems to always want to do the exact opposite of what he's supposed to be doing at any given moment. And at that moment, he shouldn't be moving like that, arching his hips, fingers glancing along the panes of Sougo's stomach. Sougo tilts into the touch momentarily and hates himself for it.

"'Done what before?'" he hisses, palms flat on Tamaki's chest to push him away. Tamaki sits up, and Sougo could cry with relief before Tamaki's hand slides between his legs, palming at Sougo's crotch. "A-Ah…"

"This kind of stuff," Tamaki says. His eyes are wide, excited. He smiles; Sougo doesn’t smile back. He doesn't think he has enough blood flow going to his face to smile. Tamaki rubs the heel of his hand against Sougo's pants and it's almost painful how much he's needed this, how long it's been. How even just some clumsy teenage pawing through his slacks makes Sougo want to straight up _die_ for more than one reason.

"Tamaki-kun." He has the distinct feeling he's pleading, like he's trying to talk down a hostage situation. "Mm... L-Let go."

"Why?" Tamaki asks, infuriatingly innocent, like he's asking why craft services doesn't provide King Pudding with every meal. "It feels good, right?"

"No — yeah," Sougo says, shuddering as Tamaki's fingers trace the outline of his erection through his clothes. He lifts his head from the mattress and the room spins around them. Sougo sinks back down, reeling, weakly keening up into Tamaki's touches. "Ah…"

Tamaki's face splits in a grin. "Yeah," he says. "Souchan worked really hard, so I'm gonna help him." A wave of complicated feelings cascades over Sougo as Tamaki undoes his belt. On the one hand: Yeah! Sougo has worked really hard! And honestly, it's been a really long time since _anybody_ helped him with _literally anything_ , let alone sex, so what's the big deal? Tamaki practically never does anything nice for Sougo and who is he to complain about it now?

Tamaki mouth is on him again, latches a spot along his neck where Sougo's pulse thunders, frantic and uneven. This isn't just someone doing something nice for him. This is Tamaki, the other half of MEZZO", the most childlike of Sougo’s bandmates, with his hands down Sougo's pants and biting a hickey into Sougo's throat. This has gone way beyond letting Tamaki dote on him as payback for all the hard work Sougo's done. This is — This is…

He has to get up. He has to take control of the situation. Tamaki is a minor and even if he, bizarrely, thinks what he's doing to Sougo some kind of favor, Sougo isn't doing Tamaki any favors by lying back and letting whatever this is happen.

"Yes," Tamaki says victoriously, like a kid finishing a particularly hard video game, as he finally succeeds in unclasping Sougo's pants. The hand that had been mercilessly pawing at Sougo slips under his waistband, knuckles brushing against the skin of his pelvis, diving downward before —

"Tamaki-kun — Tamaki!" Sougo yelps, squirming desperately as Tamaki's fingers wrap around his cock. Sougo bites his lip raw as Tamaki gently eases him free, pants forced down his thighs. Everything is happening both very fast and very slow. The room is still lurching to the left and right. A stress headache pounds behind his eyes and there’s an awful, more dangerous pounding between his legs.

"It's so red," Tamaki says, swiping his thumb over the leaking head. Sougo chokes back a hitched cry — he's too sensitive, this is too much touching. The rare times Sougo allows himself to take care of these urges, he’s always quick. Brusque and to the point. Just fulfilling a need as he works himself to satisfaction. But now Tamaki's touching him and he's _lingering_ , he's taking his time. He's really examining Sougo's dick that's twitching and spurting between Tamaki's long fingers. Fingers that give a small, appreciative squeeze —

Sougo hisses and tosses his head back, stars dancing behind his eyes. Tamaki does it again, works the motion into a long, fluid stroke that sends Sougo's toes twitching. His spine is painfully straight, his whole body is on fire over nothing more than Tamaki's sloppy strokes.

"Okay," Sougo says, voice watery, "Okay, enough, enough." He knows he's babbling now, but there's no way to keep himself calm, to hold himself together with Tamaki all over him. This is too much. Sougo weakly reaches out, catches Tamaki's wrist and tries to hold him still. "Ah — Okay, stop, stop, please." He keeps his eyes closed. He can't bear to see what Tamaki's doing to him, can't bear to watch the other man watching him. He can already feel that heated stare on his cock, the same way he felt Tamaki's stare in the car. Was this what it'd been about the whole time? Had Sougo just imagined Tamaki being mad at him, or is this kind of bizarre punishment? Sougo could live a thousand lifetimes and never understand how Tamaki's mind works.

"Souchan," He hears Tamaki murmur and can't stop himself from whining in distress as a furious arousal thunders through him with every unhurried stroke from his bandmate. "Ah, sorry," Tamaki says, but he doesn’t pull away. "I meant 'Sougo,'" he says, low and heated, like that nickname had been the problem and not the knot building at the base of Sougo's spine, the desperate upending of his world looming on the horizon.

This can't be a punishment; it feels too good. Tamaki has to know that from the way Sougo's back arches along the bed, the way his hips jerk desperately up into the contact. This is some kind of reward for all Sougo's done for Tamaki, and of course Tamaki would finally want to show his appreciation with something as insane as this. Sougo would be halfway touched if that kind gesture didn't include allowing Sougo to shamelessly fucking into a teenager's palm.

It's really been too long, way too long. Nobody's touched him like this for ages, and even if it's wrong to do it with Tamaki, Sougo's so tired. His head is so foggy, his body sluggish and desperate to feel good for once. Doesn't Sougo deserve something nice? His schedule has been really hectic lately, with the drama and MEZZO" and Idolish7, and Tamaki is trying to be kind. And sure, Sougo's been asking him to stop, but Tamaki's never listened to him before; why should Sougo expect him to start now?

Sougo opens his eyes when he's sure the room has stopped spinning, and Tamaki's stare has redirected itself to Sougo's face. He really is handsome, Sougo thinks, marveling at the sweet turn of his mouth. The deep blue of his eyes, their attentive gaze. Like he's studying Sougo, like he's some dutiful student and oh, it's going to take years of therapy to unravel why _that's_ the reason Sougo's hips lift from the bed and he comes hot and fast into Tamaki's hands.

There's no accompanying release with this orgasm, no bone-deep relaxation setting into him when he comes. He arches white and sticky over Tamaki's knuckles, staining the cuffs of his dress shirt and Sougo falls into an immediate panic. He let it go too far, he took advantage of Tamaki. He's a gross, awful, old pervert who will have to leave Idolish7. He'll have to live show business altogether, hell, he'll probably have to leave the country. He's debating the extremely generous offer his father floated, of sending him away to exile in a faraway villa when he watches Tamaki's concentrated expression melt into a gleeful smile.

"I knew that felt good," Tamaki says triumphantly, and ducks close enough to kiss him. Sougo lets himself be kissed before immediately passing out.

  


  


* * *

  


  


Sougo comes to slowly, dimly aware of the chill in the room. That's right, he thinks blearily, he passed out without turning on the heater. He's too tired to get up and turn it on, weak to his bones, muscles wiped of any desire to move. He yawns, fingers scraping along the bed, catching along the rough feeling of his dress pants. Sougo opens his eyes, looking over the slacks that are unceremoniously draped nearby. He must've taken his clothes off in his sleep. That's right. He came home, went to his room. Tamaki was there. He got into bed and blacked out from all that sake. So he must've taken his clothes off at some point —

Reality hits Sougo hard enough to knock the air from his chest. He pushes himself up on his hands and his vision pinpricks, the bed comes up against him quickly. His mouth fills with water as nausea rampages through him. That's right. He went to bed, but… Tamaki had been there. Tamaki had been in bed with him. Tamaki had rubbed his hands all over him and touched him. Tamaki had jerked him off and now, somehow Tamaki must've undressed him and —

"Ah, Souchan."

Sougo's blood runs cold. Everything below the waist had been putty soft, blissfully numb from the happy exertion it'd recently undergone. But now with the chirp of a familiar voice behind him, sensations start to seep back into his thighs. He becomes aware of the hands on his hips, pulling him backward, his ass up.

Tamaki's hand rubs an absent circle against one cheek, his thumb dangerously close to a point of purchase.

"You're up," Tamaki continues, as if every nerve in Sougo's body isn't suddenly screaming with the need to pull away, run away, to angle his body away from Tamaki's dangerous touches. "Do you have, like, lotion or something? I gotta," he gestures vaguely with a free hand and Sougo sees it. Tamaki's clothes are off now too. Tamaki's dick stands out, violently hard between his legs, bobbing gently as Tamaki attempts to reposition himself, angle it with Sougo's ass.

"Oh," Sougo says. He meant to say 'No.' 'No' is right on the tip of his tongue. A tongue that's suddenly too large in his mouth as he eyes the tools Tamaki's working with. _Of course it's that big,_ he reasons, completely inappropriate. _You've seen his hands._ And no amount of telling himself that this is Tamaki, this is a seventeen year old, can stop Sougo's mind from withdrawing to its filthiest, basest thoughts. Tamaki's dick is monstrous. He's asking to use it. And a slutty voice in the back of his head, a bad habit he’d been sure he’d left behind him in college, is making its presence known in the weakened inebriated state of Sougo's subconscious. That part of Sougo wants Tamaki to use it, wants something that big inside him, rearranging his insides, fucking him so deep he can taste it in the back of his throat (and then maybe later they can do that too.)

Sougo's cock twitches treacherously between his legs, leaking wet against the sheets. It's been too long, and he's still too drunk to know better, to tell Tamaki no, to say all the things he ought to say instead of, "Top drawer." He gestures vaguely at the bedside table.

"Thanks." Sougo can hear the genuine, gleeful smile in Tamaki's voice and knows deep to his core he's going to hell for all this.

_I never should've gotten drunk_ , Sougo thinks mournfully. And then, more honestly, _I should've gotten more drunk so I could enjoy this._ Behind him, he hears Tamaki open the lube and feels its familiar slickness trailing over his skin.

"It's really slippery," Tamaki comments, obviously, as if having Sougo naked from the waist down and in his lap is an ordinary occasion. "Is it gonna work?"

"It — works," Sougo rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes, mind sprinting to catch up with the severity of the situation.

"Where'd you even get this stuff?" Tamaki asks, rubbing the lube between his fingers.

Sougo really, truly, desperately does not want to say he bought it after they saw Trigger in concert, instead protesting, "Tamaki-kun, I don't think we should —"

"Why not?" Tamaki asks. Without waiting for an answer he forces a wet finger knuckle-deep into Sougo. Sougo's back stiffens and he squeaks in an entirely undignified way. He levels a miserable look over his shoulder, one that's tempered somewhat by the shivering keen of his body as Tamaki curls his finger. "You already got to feel good, right? I worked hard too." Sougo's irritation ticks upward a few points at Tamaki's typical selfishness. But it still lags far behind the excitement building in his chest, the way his hips rocks into the mattress, seeking friction as Tamaki explores his body.

"Mm.. Tama.. ki…" Sougo grimaces, a second finger rushing in alongside the first. Tamaki's never done this thing before; he doesn't know how to go slow, be gentle. 'Careful' has never been a word in Tamaki's vocabulary. Although if Sougo is being truly honest with himself, there have been plenty of times where Sougo asked people to be less than careful with him in the bedroom. Distantly, Sougo knows he’d always preferred those encounters over gentle lovemaking; it was better when it was rough, hurried. With Sougo pinned to the bed and a strong, able body plunging into him with wild abandon.

He can't hold back a low groan at the thought, and Tamaki's fingers scissor inside, eagerly stretching him wider. Sougo can feel himself clenching around Tamaki, urging him in deeper. This stupid, deceptive body, Sougo rages, tied up in his arousal, with his drunken sluggishness. Is he really so much of a messy slut he'll take it from anybody, even Tamaki?

"Ah," Sougo weakly reaches for Tamaki, fingers scraping against his arm, trying to detangle them. "S-Stop…"

"Man," Tamaki says wonderingly, not breaking his stride in the slightest, "Where'd you get this stuff? It works like, way better than lotion." Sougo's momentarily furious with himself for imagining it; Tamaki bent over in his own tiny bed, lotion-slick fingers prodding at his ass. That's such a gross thing to think. Sougo should be better than that. He wants to be better than that, to be a good person… but then Tamaki's fingers rub against a soft pad deep in Sougo and he blinks white spots out from his vision. He's not a good person, he never was good and never will be, and if Tamaki can do that with just his _fingers_ , imagine how good it'll feel with that monster cock of his.

"Ah, okay," Sougo says and hates the way his voice comes out like a sob. "Okay, that's enough, you… you have to stop." But his treacherous body doesn't want to stop, it's committed to this daydream, to soaking himself in this hot pit of desire. Sougo closes his eyes and can already imagine Tamaki bouncing Sougo on his lap and fucking him deep into his guts. And really, maybe that's how they'll finally get along. Sougo feels his mouth crease into a sated smile. Maybe this is MEZZO”'s future; letting Tamaki use his pliant body like a plaything. Or maybe it's Sougo who's using Tamaki, taking advantage of his youthful hormones, of Tamaki's desire to do something nice for Sougo. It’s Sougo who’s wrong, too much of a cock-hungry whore to push him away.

And even with Sougo swearing that's the dirtiest thing he's ever thought, that it should be enough for him to turn in his official resignation to Idolish7 — that's what makes Sougo lift up on his elbows and rock his ass back into Tamaki's palm.

"Tamaki-kun," Sougo moans, face reddened with alcohol and shame. "Fuck me, please." 

Over Sougo's shoulder, Tamaki freezes. Sougo goes very still as well, suddenly sober, coldly aware of what he just asked. How far he's taken this. The only part of Tamaki that moves is his face; his eyebrows lift, his jaw drops. Sougo's heart plunges through the floor. That was too much. He shouldn't say that kind of thing, especially not to Tamaki. Nevermind the size of him, he's still a kid, Tamaki's innocent and Sougo's saying that kind of lewd stuff — as if that would really be the way he and Tamaki finally see things eye to eye —

"Ah, I'm sorry-" Sougo manages to say before he's wrenched across the bed. Tamaki hauls Sougo close to him and grasps one of his thighs tightly, lifting it uncomfortably high, parting Sougo's legs wide. Sougo is still stumbling through another apology with he feels it; a stiff, painful prod just below his hip, and all at once Sougo's practically swooning. That's it, he's there, they're going to do it, and hopefully Tamaki's cock will be big enough to kill him so he won't have to be alive for the fallout.

"Yeah," Tamaki says, voice rough, desire lancing through it. It reverberates through Sougo, startled with the effect Tamaki's words have on him. "I'm gonna fuck you." Dimly Sougo figures he should be scolding Tamaki for swearing. Instead it makes his cock throb helplessly.

Tamaki doesn't wait for Sougo to catch his breath, for confirmation, suddenly thrusting his hips forward through the resistance. Sougo bites the inside of his cheek hard. Even with Tamaki thrusting shallowly, it still hurts. He wasn't prepared enough, although considering how long it's been, Sougo's not sure anything could've prepared him for this. Nothing in his life could've helped him get ready for Tamaki's dick, creeping inch by terrible inch into his ass, tearing everything apart. Tearing apart the image Sougo crafted of himself as a responsible adult. As the only person who looked out for Tamaki, who took care of him, and now Tamaki is taking care of himself with Sougo's body, forcing his cock into Sougo over and over again.

"No," Sougo says, miserable as Tamaki picks up speed. Tamaki's artful inexperience had been almost charming when they were kissing; it's less fun when Tamaki's hauling him around like a doll, cock endlessly gutting his insides. "Stop — Slow…er… ahh.." Tamaki withdraws minutely before plunging in deeper, head of his cock sliding past some inner muscle Sougo could never reach with his fingers those late nights he took care of himself. Sougo's head drops between his shoulders as shudders travel through his body, his legs shaking uncontrollably as Tamaki pistons into him. Tamaki is Idolish7's best dancer, but there's no rhythm to the absolute demolition he's doing to Sougo. Sougo's cock jumps with each erratic thrust, bobbing every which way, large globs of come sliding down its length and landing over the blankets.

"Ah... Souchan's so tight," Tamaki mutters, voice close to Sougo's ear. Sougo manages a whimper in return, keening away from the teeth that nip at his earlobe. "You feel really good."

And awfully, Sougo has to admit his discomfort is morphing into pleasure. He desperately adapts to it, the frenetic clench of his muscles around every withdrawal, desperate to hold Tamaki close. Sougo's breathing is all over the place, mouth open and panting, drool slipping past his chin. Each push forward feels deeper than the last and Sougo is heady with it, wanting more and harder. He'll break apart from it, letting Tamaki do whatever he wants like this. Although that's not really different from any other time; Tamaki always seems to get what he wants from MEZZO" and Sougo's just along for the ride.

Tamaki grunts and wraps an arm around Sougo's stomach, hauling him roughly against his chest. Sougo grimaces at the angle, of the way Tamaki's powerful forearm clamps over his stomach. _Don't squeeze me there,_ he thinks plaintively, _You'll feel it; your cock buried inside me_ It doesn't really make sense, but it feels true, it feels like it's happening and Sougo is incoherent with it, the force of Tamaki's pounding cock. Sougo weakly reaches for his arm, trying to push it away.

"Oh," Tamaki says, pausing momentarily in his jackhammering. "Ah, my bad. I forgot." His arm releases its pressure. Sougo manages to breathe again before Tamaki wraps a hand around his cock for a second time.

"Mmn!" Sougo buries his face in his shoulder as Tamaki jerks him off, movements in contrast with his hips, a haphazard double assault that leaves Sougo reeling. His brain rattling in his skull with every urgent thrust. He's too close to the edge; Sougo was like that from the moment Tamaki presented his naked body and Sougo started imagining all the dirty ways he could play around with it. When Sougo finally comes a second time it doesn't feel good, more like building dread, spurting up over his stomach. Sougo bites back a cry; they can't risk waking anyone else in the dorm. Obliviously Tamaki works his cock raw, pumping at it until Sougo weakly tries to thrash away.

"Tamaki! Stop…! I'm — ohh.." 

Tamaki growls in his ear and lets go of his abused cock, reaching instead for Sougo's face. Sougo's not sure what Tamaki's going for — to cover his mouth, to throttle him? At this point he hardly cares, body reeling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, with the merciless pounding of Tamaki's dick too deep. Tamaki's fingers claw past Sougo's lips and Sougo darts his tongue out, to lap up the mess he left behind. Tamaki slides his come-slick fingers into Sougo's mouth and he sucks, happy for something to stifle the sobs building in his throat. It's too much, Tamaki's too big and everything's so hard and brutal inside him when he's already come, come twice from this monster of a kid who's drilling so deep into him Sougo will _definitely_ not be able to dance at tomorrow's practice.

"I'm gonna," Tamaki buries his face at the base of Sougo's neck. "Ah — Souchan, I'm gonna come…!"

"No," Sougo moans weakly around the fingers that grapple past his teeth over his tongue. He tries to twist his face away. "No, don't — not inside, Tamaki-kun, please." Tamaki can't do it there; not inside. Somehow the idea of going around like nothing happened with his stomach full of Tamaki's come seems a million times worse than everything that's happened until now. "Don't do it inside," he swallows hard. "Please," he adds, hopelessly trying to reason with the beast that's his teammate, with the cock that's tearing him up. "D-Do it on my face instead... Or in my mouth — please." 

"Huh?" Tamaki laughs, low and hot against Sougo's skin "Souchan, that's gross." His hand on Sougo's thigh is definitely leaving a bruise as he holds him tight, barely leaving space for Sougo to breathe, let alone pull away. Sougo struggles weakly but there's no use; once Tamaki's made up his mind it's hard to change. Tamaki gives Sougo one more forceful yank before he stiffens, groaning loudly and burying his mouth against Sougo's shoulder. Sougo trembles at the heat rushing between his legs, the force of Tamaki's youthful energy coating oozing out of him. It takes a hundred years for Tamaki to loosen his hold, for him to slowly let Sougo's leg lower back to his side. He feels more like he was just dragged behind a bus than fucked.

With the fingers that had been in Sougo's mouth, Tamaki gingerly coaxes Sougo to look back, to turn his head just enough that he can be kissed again. It's nice, being kissed. It's been so long. And really, if Sougo thinks about it, Tamaki's kisses even seem a little better now than they were when they started this earlier that evening. And maybe that's the most important thing; Tamaki's learning. He's being a good student, attentive to Sougo's instructions.

Tamaki rolls onto his back, pulling Sougo after him. His legs are unsteady as he kneels next to Tamaki on the cramped bed, Sougo's hands splayed flat against Tamaki for balance. He looks at the boy questioningly and Tamaki smiles, hair fanned out behind him like a halo.

Tamaki's really a good person, Sougo thinks. Sougo's a dirty old drunk and Tamaki was kind enough to let Sougo get away with this. He can't even be angry, Sougo thinks, his body aching, heart clenched with affection. 

Tamaki's grip tightens as he slowly pushes Sougo's head down, forcing his face closer to Tamaki's cock. Sougo opens his mouth and wonders which one of them is taking advantage of the other now.

**Author's Note:**

> ME: i don't really ship mezzo together  
> ALSO ME: writes this
> 
>    
> follow me on twitter @mobchuu


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